


Bones and Stones

by LevanaRose



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Family Feels, Future Fic, Growth, Healing, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Siblings, True Mates, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LevanaRose/pseuds/LevanaRose
Summary: Let me know what you guys think of this! There are tags I didn't not add like smut lol but that doesn't mean it isn't coming, I just gotta see where this story takes me! I do plan on making a more intricate plot but I have to see if it is good:) hope y'all like it..
Relationships: Azriel/OC, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. The Beginning: 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think of this! There are tags I didn't not add like smut lol but that doesn't mean it isn't coming, I just gotta see where this story takes me! I do plan on making a more intricate plot but I have to see if it is good:) hope y'all like it..

The cell was cold. Cold enough to shatter bones. She wondered why her’s hadn’t yet as she slowly stood on shaky legs. Her cell was large— too large compared to the others, but she couldn’t complain, it’s not like she’d known anything other than the ashen walls. She was leaning her head against the bars that kept her caged like an animal when she saw a shadow. It moved closer to where a sliver of light peeked through from the bottom of her door. Mutterings becoming louder until—

“What does your master have in mind for you today?” The guard sneered unlocking the iron bars and dragging her out, not worrying about grabbing her where open wounds were. “Lashings again? Looks like the salt water soak did little to slow the healing last time, why not try it again?” He laughed, the silent madness in his eyes that all the guards seem to have here shone brightly on his shadowed face.

She cursed her protesting legs as she tried to walk, trying not to mind the burn that erupted down her back; trying not to mind the sound of blood dripping on the floor. The guard, just one because she was too weak to even stand by herself, rushed down the winding hallways that passed across her eyes like a blur, and up the unforgiving staircases that seemed to make up all of this Godforsaken castle.

When they finally reached giant carved oak doors, she was certain the blood had soaked the back of her shirt. That much bloodloss certainly didn’t help with the lightheadedness of hunger. The bruises and scars along her skin became strikingly apparent as the doors opened and light hit her eyes, momentarily blinding her. 

She was so used to the utter darkness of her room, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt the sun’s glorious warmth on her skin. It always felt like she could feel everything that was alive and breathing when she was outside. She could have sworn she had heard the wind whisper poetry in her ears, heard the symphony’s echo from the roaring rapids of the river that was so close to the palace it was almost taunting her. Goading her into touching the energy that surrounded her being—

A hard slap in the face brought her back to where she was. She was laying on the floor, on her hands and knees, in front of a long dark oak table. Her heavy eyelids lifted up to see a table full of males— and females, all in clothing that looked richly crafted. She looked to the head. There sat King Arix, a cruel smile on his handsome face. How she hated and cursed her realm, what she remembered so little of, for dropping her here in the hands of vultures. All of them peering at her from the table, she noticed, were looking her over but she couldn’t tell their faces apart. Her senses were too muffled, she was too fucking weak to get a handle on things.

“Well here she is,” the king mused, smiling at his dinner guests. “The High Witch that I am selling to you.” The words were clipped. Selling? Property is what she had become, not a slave— she hadn’t been forced to work till she dropped dead like others here; she was used as sadistic entertainment and pleasure for the king. And was now being sold.

“This is her?” A voice asked wryly. It was a male. She almost bristled at what she felt when he spoke. Dark eyes and dark hair slowly turned to the king. “You bring her to me like this?” His tone glistened with anger, but she didn’t know what from. Maybe it was how frail, how sickly she must have look to them— these elegant people with pointed ears. The king looked to him, his face was cold and revealed nothing. 

“Is she not up to your standards? I told you she would surprise you.” he said, a smile spreading across his face. 

“Rhys,” a different male said. He was the closest one to her and she could make out his long hair and towering height. She looked at them, her vision becoming clearer, probably from not being in the suffocating cell. All of these males were huge. Their bodies, anyone could tell, even under the clothes that every inch of them was pure muscle. The utter strength that projected from them— but something was off, something dark.

It was then she noticed the third male, his brown hair was short but fell nicely on his head. Yes him— he felt dark. His stare was nothing but calculating. The longer she stared the longer she felt him, the air around her suddenly went taunt. She could almost hear whispers— but trying to understand them was like trying to capture smoke in your hands. She cocked her head at both the males, short and long haired, the first movement she’d made since she got thrown into the middle of their feast. God she had been so concentrated on trying to pick apart the people before her that she now felt the sharp pains and aches throughout her body. The blood that had slowly stopped dripping since she had sat on the floor filled the air with a horrid metallic smell.

“What have you been doing to this girl?” A woman said. She was sitting next to the one with long hair. She was staring at her with a sad expression, her brown eyes were solemn as they fixated on her. She turned and stood up, quick as an asp and looked to the king as if she was going to advance on him.

“Mor,” the male— Rhys said. A warning to wait.

“How much?’ A calm fury settled over his features as he looked at the king. King Arix didn’t look intimidated at the cold stare Rhys through his way.

“ What we discussed, of course. Your alliance against the death god. To come to my aid if we are ever under siege. You can take her. She is of no use to me.” The king waved a hand in my direction, still with that foolish smile on his face, “I know you have powerful people at your disposal,” a look to the female at Rhy’s right, “and you bunch can be quite persuasive amongst other territories.”

A low growl slipped from Rhys’s bared teeth at the look king Arix gave his friends. Rhys looked at the female next to him. She had a crown on her head; where the brightest of jewels and the darkest of obsidian gleamed. She started up at him for a moment, too long to just be a normal shared look between two people and—

“I decide when we come to your aid. I have no ties with your people and no reason to protect you from Koschei. If my family is in danger or my people I will think twice about coming—bargain or no.” Rhys stared at the King. Lesser men would have balked from that unwavering look. “My mercenaries will send the funds to you.”

With that declaration he got up, as did everyone else at the table and the started getting together in pairs. Mor— the female and the long haired male made their way to the broken girl on the floor. Getting sold from one monster to another. She scrambled back as fast as she could but her exhaustion was evident in every slow movement she made. A look of terror crossed her face—her breathing quickened as she tried and failed to put distance between them. Blood was dripping. Everywhere. It was always everywhere. In her nightmares she was always drowning in ruby waters—it would sear her throat, her lungs, until she could not claw at at the invisible force that was holding her down anymore than she could change the tides—

Until she would wake gasping, as she was doing now. Mor and the male stopped and an expression that she had seen from others in the castle crossed their faces. She did not need their pity. Yes she was weak. Yes she was tried and starving and hurting—  
But that did not stop her from waking up everyday. From opening her eyes and enduring another grueling day instead of going into that dark goodnight. She had survived. She had tried. Even after she had lost everything.  
God, everyday felt like walking on shards of glass—

She would not take their pity. They were predators. She calmed herself and her breathing, as she looked at Mor’s outstretched arms. It was like the female knew that she could hardly sit upright. So excruciatingly slow, she stood up in front of them. Every breath that she drew was ragged, she might pass out any second. Her legs felt like a newborn fawn’s, she was so damn thin.

“Where are you taking me?” She forced out. Her voice sounded strained. Raspy.

  
“To the Night Court,” Mor said. Her words were slow, careful not to scare off the deer that was being circled by wolves.

“We can help you.” She reiterated her outstretched hands. She could have sworn she heard the shadows come up behind her; heard their murmur’s. She could have sworn that’s what pushed her knees to buckle beneath her as she fall right into Mor’s waiting arms. Faster than she could blink they were gone, folding between the world like mist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think in the comments:)

Soft. Lightness is what she felt. Where was she? How the hell could a dream feel this real? She moved to stretch her legs-

“Fuck.” God her back was _burning_. She was burning alive. Her skin felt sweaty. Sticky. Her eyes felt encrusted with sand as they opened. She was in a huge room laying on a plush bed—a huge white _real_ bed. She could feel a breeze. She slowly, so damn slowly, sat up and looked at the open ledge where sunlight and the world beckoned.

The wind sang, calling to her in language only she understood. If she reached out just far enough, the tips of her fingers would feel the warmth of the sun. She felt warmth in this bed she realized. She couldn’t remember the last time her bones didn’t ache. When they didn’t constantly feel a twinge of pain, even when she was doing nothing. She looked around, feeling too small for this big room and gingerly moved to the edge of the bed to get up. Her head swam when she got upright, holding tight to the wooden bed post. She was wearing soft clothes; she wasn’t allowed to wear pants at the castle—the king didn’t like her to. They felt foreign as she walked on legs that looked like they would snap within the second.

Facing the body mirror in the corner she finally saw how she looked. She supposed once she would have been pretty, if she wasn’t so pale and gaunt looking. She grabbed the water that was on the desk next to her bed and took small sips. The liquid soothed her achy throat as it rushed down to her empty stomach. She turned around in the mirror and saw the bandage that was wrapped around her torso peeking under her shirt. She slid her arms out of her cropped shirt, still aware of how little she could move, and started unraveling the bandages. She couldn’t stop the tears that escaped her eyes as she look at her ravaged back. Indented scars of different sizes were spread all over, but she couldn’t really focus on them when all she could see was the butchered skin. They had brutalized her. It looked like an animal with sharp claws thought of her as its toy. The red and purple gashes raked down her small form.

Now that she realized it against the stark light of the morning, scars peppered her body. Some big, some small. She had no idea where those had come from. Being in the dark all the time didn’t help, she supposed, she didn’t care to inspect her skin when she was kept as a pet—no, she didn’t care for anything at all. Staring at her face once more made her realize that her golden eyes, that could have been beautiful were dull, the scar across her neck that brought forth memories of the weakest she’d been, was far from faint. She fixed her shirt not bothering to wrap the bandages again and made her way to the door. She heard two voices out side, she recognized it as Mor’s, the female who brought her here, and the long haired males voice. Sighing, feeling achy and tired to her bones, she crawled back into bed, into the blissful nothingness that summoned her.

When she opened here eyes again the sky was various shades of pink and purple. A new set of clothes had been set on her dresser. She wobbled getting up and put on the new clothing items. The cerulean blue of the clothes matched her hair. Knocking sounded at the door, and for some reason her heart started hammering in her chest. Before she had a chance to hide, two females came in, both pale with long black hair.

The one who opened the door spoke first. “We are Nala and Cerridwen. The High Lord says dinner is ready and is inviting you to join” She assumed the one that spoke was Nala, but before she had time to process anything they said they were already heading out the door, their steps silent.

“Wait—“ she says, surprised at her own voice for still being thick and raspy. They stopped and looked at her and she asked, “ What court am I in? How did I get here?”

Nala and Cerridwen exchanged a a brief glance and simply said, “He will answer any questions you have.” With those few warm words, they left, or more like floated out the door leaving her alone again. She decided she wasn’t hungry. She was tired. All she wanted was to sleep and not have to talk to anyone. It took energy— energy she didn’t have to walk to those laughing voices. To go sit at an actual dinner table and put whatever food they gave her on a plate, to grab a utensil, to lift the food to her mouth, to chew it, and then to swallow it. Too many steps and not enough interest. She cursed the strange twins for taking her soft nightwear as she shrugged out of her clothes and fell into bed once more

She hadn’t left her room in a week.No one else had come knocking on her door except the two twins, who had come almost every hour it seemed. Wanting her to dress, to come down, to eat, to walk. But she would have none of it, and sent them away every time. Mostly because she was too weak to do those things and second because she didn’t care to.

The only thing she did let them do was let them help her bathe. The scars and wounds on her back had been healed as best as they could be, but since they had dipped her in salt water after most injuries they were forever staining her body. She couldn’t raise her arms enough without shooting, albeit fleeting, pain down her back. She supposed it felt nice to have someone else take care of her. Even if they were told to do so they still gripped her arms with tenderness to steady her, they still spoke to her softly even after she had sent them away day after day. One thing she was glad of was that the twins did not bat an eyelash at her body. They had not once looked at her with pity seated in their eyes and she was grateful, even if she still looked like a trembling fawn.

“I think I’ll come down to dinner today,” she said. She had come to peace with the fact that her voice would remain raspy forever, which served as no inconvenience to her. Hunger was finally starting to rear it’s head. She awoke in the evening with it clawing at her—begging her to surrender to it’s call. She looked to the twins, who only bowed their head in agreement as Cerridwen brought clothes, not nightwear, and left the room. Her stomach was churning as she thought about going down there and conversing with the people who had bought her. She hadn’t forgotten she had been sold, but she could not dredge up any anger because of the way they had been treating her. She wondered what they would make her do if she went down there expecting to eat.

Was she really going down there expecting to eat? This had to be just to draw her out of her room. She would think she would be getting a meal when in reality she was going down there to be punished for all the days she ignored their invitations? To be forced to do things that, when she thought about doing again made her want to scrub her skin raw—

“Don’t be scared,” Naula soothed, as it sensing her rising panic. She looked up at the girl who had been taking care of her for the past week, who had brought her teas everyday, who had sat on the edge of her bed to brush her hair for comfort. “They are kind and are worried.”

She gazed at Nala in the mirror and found dark eyes staring back. She watched as Nala put down the brush she was using and gathered different diamond clips to style her hair. Today the outfit was not blue like her hair, but light pink. She would have put herself in a different color because the lightness only made her purple under eyes and paleness something that you couldn’t look away from. It was unnerving to really look at herself, never having the luxury to do it before. Her exhaustion was staring her in the face. Where was her longing to explore the outside? Where did the buzzing she felt from the earth go? Everything went silent the day she succumbed to sleep, as if the energy that prowled in her veins decided slumbering would be a good idea as well. She hadn’t noticed that Nala moved until she spoke, her body halfway out the door, “Dinner will be ready when you come dow,” and left with a click. Today would be painful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little longer than my other ones. Hopefully it isn't boring though! All your guy's feedback is amazing and super appreciated:) Let me know what you think!

Poking her head out the doorway to check for anyone was the first move she made to going outside. Faint male and female voices sounded from the lower levels of the home. She made her way down the warm hall not stopping her pace even as her head swam, and gripping the wood, made it down the wide staircase. Her room had been on the second level she realized, as she looked over the wide and welcoming area of the first floor.

It was strange, she thought, as she gazed at the ornate door, to be this close to freedom. She walked up and placed a hand on it. To not be ordered around and trapped. Trapped in that fowl little room with the coldest concrete walls where she sometimes thought she didn’t exist, felt as though she didn’t have a body in a space that was so dark she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Turning to follow the increasingly loud voices, she made her way down the area, noticing paintings littered all along the walls, all of the same six people.

The conversation had stopped when she arrived at the large wooden table, as she looked at the familiar faces seated before her, food untouched. She suddenly felt so small under the stare of these muscled men and women, could suddenly feel the tears wanting to spill, but gathering at the base of her throat where they burned instead.

This was a horrible idea.

She should have just come down in the cover of night to get food if she needed to eat that badly, to avoid the staring, the confusion, and the defensiveness of all the males. Dread had gathered in her chest. She wanted it to drop to her stomach, to her feet, to anywhere else where she couldn’t feel the weight of it on her lungs, hindering her ability to breathe. Yes, the males were indeed curious but protective. The air around them changed and all of it was blocked by some invisible wall, but not invisible to her. The wall made her want to reach out and tap it, if only to see if it could be shattered.

A female stood up and walked around the table to stop next to the violet eyed male. “My name is Feyre,” she said, “ I am HighLady of the Night Court, and this is my mate Rhysand, High Lord of the Night court.” Gesturing to the male she stopped in front of. Him, Rhysand, was the one who wanted her— _bought_ her. She had a freedom she had never experienced before, being given the luxury of sleep and being cared for. But still she was owned and if she was owned she would always be controlled.

She could hear the Kings voice in her head, clear as day, _you are to be wielded,_ he would say, _never think for a second anyone would see you as anything other than a hinderance, to be used and locked away._ Something must have shown on her face then because Rhysand gave a glance to a short haired male who’s only tell was a flash of his eyes. She pretended that she couldn’t hear the strange whispers roaming around her, even as they made the hair on her arms rise, even as she stared into dark eyes that held no truth about what he was controlling.

“Why haven’t you started,—“ a young women stopped half way to the table, and stared at her as if she hadn’t felt her presence before.

“I was just introducing our new guest,” Feyre replied as she walked back to her seat. “Please sit next wherever you would like.” She motioned to her. There were indeed many empty chairs situated along the table. She made her way, knowing that at least right now they wouldn’t do anything to harm her, to the empty chair beside the blonde—Mor had been her name, if she remembered correctly and the HighLord. The other young brunette, who was also High Fae sat at the other end, facing the Fae male who was followed by shadows.

Rhysand looked at her as they all began passing the plates of food around the table. “We didn’t know exactly when you would arrive, but I’ll save you from the introductions,” he explained.

He had an unnervingly kind look in his eyes. She noted how soft his voice was now compared to when they had been in the castle. Probably not to spook her off, to get her to at least speak. God she had just been _staring_ at these people as if it had been the first time she had seen others. In truth she had never seen any males or females that had quite looked like them. All of them had knives stuck to their bodies like a second skin, ready to use the moment anyone would dare to cross them. When she had come down to the dining area their wings and the vast change in energy struck her senses. Power ebbed from them, she almost wanted to recoil from the HighLord as he was passing plates around.

“At the end, is Azriel, my Shadowsinger, next to him is Amren my second,” the female with the silver eyes who was carefully eating, as if she were uncomfortable, “my mate Feyre, Mor my third,” each introduction made her wish she could just fold in on herself, “ Cassian the general of my armies, and Elain, Feyre’s sister.”

Yes, she was indeed seated amongst powerful people. These were the deadly members of the Night Court? She vaguely recalled guards gossiping about their arrival when she was in her cell. That they were horrid and cruel to anyone who dared defy them. She looked around the table and found that their quick glances and uncertain smiles did not scream that they would harm anyone, even though her common sense knew otherwise.

“Do you have a name?” Amren drawled, startling her out of her thoughts. She met the silver eyes of the High Fae, the slate grey to her molten gold. They all turned their gaze on her once again, and she couldn’t help but feel a hint of annoyance.

“ My name is Phaedra,” she replied. She hadn’t intended her voice to sound so empty. Grabbing a buttered role and putting it on her plate she looked at Azriel.

“What are you doing?” The shadows had once again been probing her, as she had been trying to tell what the shift in the air was. They were taunting her, as if they were waiting to see when she would turn around.

“You noticed them?” They quickly got sucked back into whatever void they came from. A suppressed smile graced his mouth, but other than that she could glean no other emotion. The air went taunt again, as it had at the castle, the longer she stared at him.

“They are hard to miss. They were poking around.” She rasped out. Either the others couldn’t see where exactly his shadows lingered or they chose to ignore it, Phaedra didn’t know.She glanced at the cup of water at her right, and at the untouched bread at her plate. The castle had drugged her food and water for as long as she could remember, if you could call what they gave her edible. Feeling the air, feeling the off-putting darkness that flowed off of Rhysand, the power that surged from Cassian and—Feyre she realized, and the shadows that creeped from Azriel, had all her senses overwhelmed. From being unaware fo everything to so quickly being able to feel every fiber of the ground with such clarity was enough to send her reeling—was enough to make her _want_ to drink the water, to see if it would again drown out the world.

“Have you painted any new things yet?” Mor asked from beside her looking at Feyre with a wicked smile on her face.

“I was just about to tell you to come to the studio tomorrow, so that way we can discuss our project in more detail.” She said, a smile matching Mor’s crossed her sharp face.

Cassian’s brows were drawn together as he stared at the two females, their smiling faces were looking at him, waiting to see if—

“That’s why you were staring at our wings as we trained this past week?” Cassian yelled in fake outrage. A deep chuckle erupted from him and Rhysand as he poured himself and Mor another glass of wine.

“Feyre and I had to study them to get the size and length right for the _most_ accurate painting,” Mor said smirking, “ we didn’t want to miscalculate.”

Cassian’s hazel eyes glittered. “Well if you would have asked I would have gladly let you inspect my wings. Maybe I would have even given you and Feyre an up close view of—“

“We can’t go one minute in this house without someone talking of male parts,” Amren declared, “especially at the dinner table.” Amren glared at Cassian while Mor snickered.

Rhysand looked at Feyre, the question of _really?_ Was dancing in his eyes. The way they gazed at each other, Phaedra saw the deep love the two shared; it felt too intense for dinner,—like the world would be stopped and started at their will; as if nothing else mattered. She swallowed hard and looked away. She knew that look. She had once been on the receiving end of it, before it got ripped away. The only comfort she had ever known now belonged to a brutal invisible scar and marred her very soul.

When she pointed her gaze at Cassian he was giving Amren an incredulous look. “Don’t be angry with us just because Varian isn’t giving you good enough—“

“Watch it boy,” Amren said. Her tone was biting. “Just because I’m not what I once was, doesn’t mean I still cant make you wish for death.”

Eyebrows raised, Cassian said, his voice matching Amren, “I would like to see you try.”

“Ookay,” Mor said, clasping her hands together, “let’s pick a different topic of conversation.” She looked at Phaedra, and then her eyes slid to her untouched water and bread. The lightness in her gaze faded a bit. “Do you not like what we have? We could always get you something else if you want it.” She said to Phaedra. She looked at the beautiful female, heard the softness of her words. She didn’t doubt she looked sickly, her arm was half the size of Mor’s. The others were trying, but failing, to act like they were engaged in other conversation.

“ I’m not used to eating.” Phaedra said, and immediately regretted the words because now they were staring. “I did eat some, but I need to start small first.” God she sounded stupid trying to come up with a good enough reason to deny the warm meal in front of her. It was true, she didn’t want to bombard herself with food after not having any for a long while, but she also needed to conquer one thing at a time; talking and being around others for dinner, and getting her body used to consuming things again.

She looked at Mor as she said the words and saw her eyes go over Phaedra’s head. Before Phaedra could brace herself, she sucked in a sharp breath as a shadow of a hand came over her head and came down— only to immediately pull back. She slowly turned her shrunken body to face the HighLord, lifting her grimacing face to look at him and saw a plate clutched in his once raised hand.

She looked around the table as she straightened and there it was—pity.

Pity and sadness could be found in their eyes as she looked at them.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you were,—“ she started, looking at Rhysand, but it was Azriel’d voice that cut through the air like a dagger.

“Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.” No pity could be found in his eyes, but there was an anger. She could feel it in waves coming from him; not Rhysand, but at whomever had made her fearful of mundane things. Her tired gaze strained to hold his but she just looked down at her shaking hands. She quickly grabbed the bread before they could say anything more and took a bite.

It had been a while, a long long while since she had tasted anything this good. Her stomach immediately growled in response to her taste buds.

“How exactly did I get here?” She looked at them, but asked no one in particular. They had all been there—had all seen her on the floor trying to crawl away, bloody and broken. The dread was back, and crawling it’s way up her legs now, cornering her heart to where she couldn’t protect it.

“Mor winnowed you in. We called a healer for you and Nala and Cerridwen took you to your room and got you cleaned up.” Feyre explained. Worry crossed her features.

Phaedra couldn’t understand. She didn’t care if she was hiding her confusion or not from them. Why are they worried? Why would they show her kindness if they didn’t need something in return? She could think of nothing to offer them and she certainly hadn’t been compliant.

“You bought me.” Was all she said. She knew her face was nothing but cold now, annoyance and curiosity started fading when an unforgiving weight had begun to make a home on her ribs.


End file.
